221Back Up from the Angels
by MorganWinchester
Summary: When Sherlock and John stumble upon a case larger than the world that science can explain, they might just need the help of a mad man in a box. A Wholock fanfic!
1. Chapter 1

Location: London—Baker Street

Time: 11:38 PM BST

Sherlock sat in his chair at 221B Baker Street. His hands folded in front of him, his eyes closed. He heard John in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, a bit late for tea but their evening had been rather stress inducing. Sherlock couldn't hear Mrs. Hudson down in her share of the flat, he assumed she was in bed with a book.

"Do you think he'll come?" John queried, handing Sherlock a cup of tea and sitting down with his own cup of tea, across from Sherlock. "The man in the box?"

Sherlock glanced to the black and white wallpapered wall, which he had tacked several unclear images of an old Police Box and a man in a bowtie, each connected with string. Sherlock didn't know how the bow tie man would know to find them. The thought itself make him feel absolutely mad. He wasn't thinking clearly, that much was obvious. In his rushing thoughts, Sherlock hadn't realized that John had been tapping his foot rapidly with anxiety, rambling the same event of tonight over and over in different words.

"Sherlock are you listening?" John crossed his legs.

"Mm," the detective muttered a few words under his breath.

"What was that you said?" John egged for a conversation.

"It doesn't make sense, John," Sherlock set his tea aside, "What we saw today, it isn't possible." He thought back to the hour before; the statue…it's face. The Baker Street detectives barely made it out of the building, let alone back to the flat. Before John had made tea, he and Sherlock stood shakily, staring at the mobile on the table.

 _"_ _We should call Mycroft." John had stated. "He might know what to do. What those things were!"_

 _"_ _No! What we saw isn't feasible, John," Sherlock stood up violently, ready to explode. "John, John, you're a doctor—_

 _"_ _Well spotted,"_

 _"—_ _As my friend, please. Tell me this is drugs. Tell me I'm high! Something!" Sherlock had knocked over a chair in rage. Hoping that for once he did have a problem. "Statues aren't capable of, of—vanishing people!"_

 _"_ _Sherlock, sit down, just sit down dammit! I won't call your brother. Just sit and calm down. Then we can figure this out."_

"The man in the blue box," Sherlock crafted each word carefully, enunciating each syllable like he had to do in finishing school. "The case that we might never crack."

The photographs on the wall had been printed from old newspapers and blogs. Tacked to the wall with claims of eye-witness accounts, some dating back before John or Sherlock had been born. But this made no sense. The man in the pictures was a young man, late in his twenties. His face appearing briefly in tiny modules of history. All throughout time.

As Sherlock considered as many and all of the facts he knew. In the same instant, a strange wheezy-groaning noise echoed down the quiet street. Sherlock jumped up from his chair, spilling his tea over the floor. He and John pulled the curtains back from the window. Out in the street, the blue police box from the picture on the wall. When the wheezing sound ceased, Sherlock and John watched wide-eyed in silence. Sherlock could hear his own heart beating rapidly through his chest. He hadn't been convinced that he wasn't high.

The door of the box creaked open and out stepped a man in a tweed jacket, a red bow tie and a grand smile. He had seen Sherlock and John in the window and waved at the Baker Street detectives.


	2. Chapter 2

Location: London—Baker Street

Time: 11:46 PM BST

"Doctor! Where are we?" Amy followed him out of the Tardis, Rory right behind her.

"Twenty-first century London!" The Doctor stretched his arms above his head with excitement.

"Oh…kay," Amy snickered, "This is the same year we took off in, though. What's so exciting about London this year?"

The Doctor looked up at the windows above Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Café. Two men were standing, looking down at them, waving at the two, the Doctor turned to Amy and Rory, "I don't know, but by the looks of those two, we're about to find out." He jumped to the top step, "221B Baker Street," he announced the address and knocked with the crooked knocker on the door. Within half a second the door whipped open.

"Hello!" The Doctor smiled grandly, "I'm the Doc—

The taller of the two men violently pulled the Doctor into the flat, cutting off his introduction.

"Christ, Sherlock!" The shorter of the two yelled at the taller taking the steps two at a time behind them.

"Doctor!" Amy and Rory ran into the flat and up the stairs after the Doctor.

The taller man threw the Doctor onto the sofa, "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Sherlock stop this, this is insane!" the shorter man yelled at his friend.

"John, we've spent weeks trying to figure out the vanishing police box! And then we have one encounter, an unexplainable encounter—mind—and then this man! This very man—appears at our doorstep with a smile on his face!" The words escaped from his gritted teeth.

The shorter man, apparently called John, pulled the taller man away from the sofa and pushed him into a chair, "Just sit for one minute Sherlock!" he turned back to the Doctor and Amy and Rory, "I'm so sorry, it's just…"

"Something beyond comprehension?" the Doctor asked calmly, sitting up.

The taller man, Sherlock, looked over with his eyes narrowing. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and you'd better start explaining yourself."

And older lady burst into the room in a nighty, dressing down and slippers, "What's all the racket about, Sherlock? It's a bit late for clients, don't you think?"

"We're still trying to decide what the racket's about, Mrs. Hudson. Everything's fine, not to worry." John talked her down easily, although she turned to go slowly and unsurely. "That was Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, I'm John Watson, by the way."

The Doctor smiled, "Hello John, Sherlock! I'm the Doctor."

"You're a Doctor?" John asked, "Where is it that you work?"

"No, not _a_ doctor, just the Doctor," he straightened his bow tie, "That's what they call me, still not sure why." His smile dropped off his face, but return once he adjusted his gaze to John and Sherlock, "These are my friends, Amy, Rory, say hello."

"Hello," Amy and Rory said the word quietly, their eyes darting around the inside of the cluttered flat.

"So," Amy slowly turned to Sherlock, "What exactly is this…unexplainable encounter you mentioned? What was it?" she was extremely eager to find out why London was so exciting, so important tonight of all nights.

Sherlock didn't look like he was about to account their story to anyone, exhaling "John?"

"Yeah, alright," John clapped his hands together sitting down in an armchair across from Sherlock. "We're detectives."

"Consulting detectives." Sherlock interjected.

"Consulting detective, yeah," John continued, "We were following this case, a guy came in here a couple of days ago…"

 _221B was greeted by a man who shook at every limb, a man whose clothes were doused with sweat._

 _This was the case of the "Vanishing Workmen"_

 _"_ _The warehouse attached to our office, for the past few days' people go down and never back. I went down myself just today, just now. And Mr. Holmes, the lights, the lights flickered and there was a scuttling sound in the back."_

 _"_ _So?"_

 _"_ _So what, Mr. Holmes?" the man pulled at his tie, loosening it at his neck._

 _"_ _So, why is your case worth my time?" Sherlock had leaned forward, hoping for any intriguing factor to present itself._

 _"_ _It's a statue Mr. Holmes." The man's voice shook just as much as he did. "It was moved from the fountain in the lobby, when we redid the office."_

 _"_ _Get to the point, quickly, I haven't got all day," That wasn't true of course, there hadn't been a case that interested Sherlock in a few days, as he was starting to feel the effect drop he needed a new, natural high._

 _"_ _We put the statue in the warehouse, for storage. It's moved across the building with every disappearance!"_

 _"_ _AND!?" Sherlock yelled._

 _"_ _IT'S GONE MR. HOLMES! No one knows where it went! That's why I went down to look for it, with Joseph, my co-worker. That's when it happened, the statue came back and touched him and he vanished, into thin air, nearly got me two but I got away."_

 _"_ _What's the address?"_

 _"_ _509 St. Cross Street."_

"Did that statue the man mentioned really make people disappear?" The Doctor leaned forward on the sofa.

John back over at him. "Yes,"

 _Sherlock and John got out of the cab at the address the man at Baker Street had given them. It was late, after work hours, getting dark outside_

 _"_ _Are you Sherlock Holmes?" a man greeted them at the door._

 _"_ _Yes. And this is my colleague, Doctor John Watson."_

 _John shook the man's hand, "Hello,"_

 _"_ _I'm Christopher Troughton, I run the facilities here, Devon told me he went to you yesterday, asked me to show you the warehouse. If you'll follow me."_

 _The Baker Street detectives followed Christopher to the warehouse door;_

 _"_ _Here we are," he unlocked the door, gesturing through it, turning on the lights._

 _"_ _Aren't you coming in?" John shifted his weight from one leg to the other._

 _"_ _You must be barking if you think I'm going in there. Matt the foreman is down there now." Just give us a shout when your off._

 _"_ _Yeah, will do," John turned his head to Sherlock. "Well, let's see about this magic statue shall we?"_

 _"_ _The game is afoot, John," Sherlock smiled walking down the steps into the warehouse._

"When we were in there, nearly two hours ago now," John continued the tell the tale. "The lights flickered, and the statue, it was in one place one second, we turned and it had moved closer to us."

"What about the foreman?" the Doctor asked. "What happened to him?"

"He was down there when we were, we talked to him."

 _"_ _So, you're the foreman?" John had asked, prior to the statue moving._

 _"_ _Yeah, the name's Matt," the foreman introduced himself._

 _"_ _Tell us anything about the disappearances around here?" Sherlock inquired._

 _"_ _That's a load of rubbish that is." Matt shelved a few boxes as he spoke._

 _"_ _No truth in it then? Any actual disappearances?" Sherlock questioned._

 _"_ _Not that I know of. If you'll excuse me." The foreman made his way round the warehouse with a clipboard, making little notes and tallies of the things on the shelves._

"We had figured that was odd, for the foreman to not know of any disappearances when the building manager had not dared enter the warehouse." John shrugged, trying to make sense of his own story.

"It wasn't just odd," Sherlock added, "It's one of the most unlikely possibilities."

"You still haven't answered my question, gentlemen, what happened to the foreman?" The Doctor was intent on getting his answer.

"One minute he was there and the next he wasn't."

 _"_ _Sherlock! Look at this!" John stood in front of a statue, "I think I've found it!"_

 _The detective ran around the corner and came to a halt next to his friend. The two stopped and stared at a statue that was approximately John's height._

 _The foreman came around the corner, walking in between them, both detectives turned their heads to stop him._

 _"_ _What's the big deal—!" he screamed and in a flash was gone._

 _"_ _CHRIST!" John stared at the statue raising his hands to his temples._

 _Sherlock jumped back, the statue had extended its arms and bore its sharp teeth in a nasty grimace. The lights flickered._

 _"_ _Run?" John asked._

 _"_ _Run!" Sherlock confirmed and their turned their tails and went as fast as they could._

"One more question," the Doctor looked back and forth from John to Sherlock, "What was the statue of?"

Sherlock and John caught each other's eyes. "An angel." They said in unison.

"An angel." A look, recognizable as panic, washed over the Doctor's face as he looked from Amy to Rory and back to John and Sherlock.

"What? Why is an angel important?" John gapped at the three.

Sherlock did as well, "Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah." The Doctor nodded with a heavy sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

Location: London – Baker Street

Time: 12:00 AM BST

"How come the statue being an angel matters?" John asked the man called the Doctor.

Amy guided her eyes to her raggedy man, she knew exactly why the statue resembling an angel was a bit not good, "Doctor, do you think it's a Weeping Angel?"

"What's a Weeping Angel, then?" John shifted his weight with the slightest note of concern. Sherlock might be right, the two had come across strange cases before and John hadn't considered that they could have been drugged upon entering the building. In fact, there was at least a dozen ways their eyes could have been tricked into seeing what they saw.

"A weeping angel is a quantum-locked humanoid," the Doctor began, "Stone when you're looking, moves like a human when you're not."

"What a load of rubbish," John declared, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm," the detective grumbled.

The Doctor, Amy, and Rory turned their gazes to Sherlock, who had leaned back in his chair. His thoughts flying behind his eyes, clearly coming to some sort of decision.

"Get out." Sherlock pointed to the door.

"What?" the Doctor was taken back quite a bit. "What do you mean 'get out?'"

Sherlock stood, speaking quickly, "I mean; the same thing I told the man who came here a few days ago, the same thing I told him to do if he didn't make his explanation clear. And I will do my best to make myself clear to you. GET. OUT."

The Doctor hopped up quickly, "Alright then, Rory, Amy?" he grabbed their hands, now fearful of the look that swept Sherlock's face. The three friends dashed down the stairs of the flat and scurried through the front door. "I think we've overextended our stay."

Sherlock watched, like a predator would study its prey, as Amy, Rory and the Doctor darted into the Police Box parked in the street. The wheezing-groaning noise echoed down Baker Street and, as the Blue Box vanished into the night. Sherlock pulled his mobile from his pocket.

"Who're you calling?" John questioned, he stood at the other window, a few feet from Sherlock.

"Molly." A one-word answer. As he dialled Molly Hooper's mobile.

"Hello?" Molly's voice came weakly through the phone.

"Meet me at the lab, this is important." Sherlock said to her, pulling on his coat, motioning for John to do the same.

"What? Sherlock, it's twelve in the morning." Molly's voice carried a sleepy tone

"Molly, please."

She didn't respond right away, an awful silence rung through the connection. For half a second, John figured Molly would tell them to meet her at a more human hour of the day.

"Oh, alright." Molly gave in. "Meet you there in fifteen minutes." She hung up.

"Sherlock, why'd you call Molly?"

"I'm really not sure of what we saw tonight, John, but there's a fair chance you and I could have hallucinated all of it." Sherlock wrapped his blue scarf around his neck, as he and John descended from their flat.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called. "We're going out."

Unsure if the landlady heard them or not, the Baker Street boys left Baker Street and headed to meet Molly Hooper at Bart's Hospital.

Bart's was fairly quiet, and Molly kept most of the lights off in the lab, even when Sherlock and John got there. Molly was wearing a jumper, which was currently employed to hide how sleepy she truly was. Though, it was all for not.

"Molly! You look exhausted!" Sherlock remarked upon their entry into the lab.

Molly laughed, dryly, "Well, you know, that's what happens when you're woken up by a phone call from a friend who begs you to meet them because it's important." Of course, Molly Hooper felt glad Sherlock needed her help, even if he didn't think before he spoke, or rather noticed and noted everything before he spoke about all of it. "What is it you need?"

Sherlock's agitation shook through his body, he hadn't felt this way since he was younger, when Mycroft would say things to get under his skin, "I need you to test if John and I were drugged. Something hallucinatory I imagine."

"Oh. Alright," she took two plastic jars from a shelving unit on the far wall, "Go take a pee in these." She handed them each a jar.

Sherlock nearly flew to the washroom, John following, just not as quickly. Upon checking his watch, he suddenly felt the rush of the day surge through him, and a wave of sleep deprivation washed over his eyes.

"Why does Sherlock think you two were drugged?" Molly asked, now donning a lab coat and goggles. She had started to test their urine for any sign of a hallucinogen.

"We saw something today, that just can't be real, Molly." John replied. He was sitting across from her, at an empty space, head in his hands. "Even Sherlock couldn't make it sound logical." And at his point, John wasn't sure if he sounded logical.

Sherlock, on the other hand, bounced about on the opposite side of the lab. Clearly bored waiting for Molly to make any sort of discovery. He stood, he sat—on stools and the floor—he sighed louder and louder out of exhaustion and weariness.

"Could you stop that, Sherlock?" John didn't bother to glare at him. "Molly's almost done and then we can go home and sleep.

Sherlock made a noise, a combination of a sigh and a growl, "Agh! John I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of feeling like I've no grasp on things." He clenched his fists in anger, "I'm even tired of being tired."

Molly interrupted him, "Well, I've tested for just about everything under the sun that could cause short-term hallucinations, and unless you lot have had hallucinations for more than twenty-four hours, you were most certainly not drugged."

John gapped at her, and down to Sherlock, "Not drugged." The words broke the brief silence in the room. "Then what the hell did we see?"

Yep! No way Sherlock would believe a thing he saw, even when the Doctor says it was. He's too hard on logic to accept the whimsy of Doctor Who. –feel free to review!


	4. Chapter 4

Location: TARDIS

Time: ?

"What's he doing now?" Rory was still pretty new to the whole time-travelling experience. He hadn't quite picked up on the Doctor's behaviour or frequent mannerisms.

"He's grumpy because those detectives kicked us out of their flat." Amy made a mock-pouty face, imitating the Doctor—who was indeed, very grumpy.

"Sherlock Holmes," He muttered with a pouty face of his own. "Sherlock 'Know-it-all' Holmes. The hat detective. He doesn't even know…"

"Doctor," Amy sat down next to him, "Where are we going?"

"509 St. Cross Street." The Doctor jumped up, toggling a few switches on the control consol. "That's the address where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson went to, following the lead of their 'case.'"

The wheezy-groaning sound of the Tardis engine halted as the trio landed on the corner of St. Cross Street. It was still late; 12:20 in the morning, when Rory checked his watch. The entire street was lit only by the lamp posts. 509 revealed itself to be an office building, most of the lights were off. The Doctor casually slipped by the door, sonic-ing it behind his back, he and Amy and Rory slid through the door. They located the warehouse door rather quickly. Once again, the Doctor waved his sonic screwdriver around the door. "Hmm," the Doctor scrunched his face up at the reading, "No, why are you doing that?" he complained to the sonic.

"What's wrong?" Amy implored.

"The reading's throwing off the settings. It's all…timey wimey." The Doctor's face washed into a pout. A weeping angel resided here, there was no doubt in his mind. He set his hand to the warehouse door, turning it carefully.

Rory nearly chewed his finger nails off as the door handle squeaked open with the eerie, unsettlement of suspense.

"WOO-WOO-WOO!" An alarm bleated loudly, it must have been wired to the warehouse door! And boy, was it loud!

"Doctor!" Amy's hands raised to her head quickly, "Turn that alarm off!"

The Doctor's sonic screwdriver flicked on with it's signature green light and the blaring noise of the alarm subsided.

"Thank god!" Rory exclaimed, as the three took their fingers out of their ears. But it was all too late, the red and blue lights of Scotland Yard shone through the windows of the office building. Their sirens echoing down the street.

"Run?" Amy inquired, adjusting her mini-skirt, ready to bolt if need be.

"No. Not run." The Doctor shot his hands into the air, "We surrender!" he eyed Amy and Rory, "Running is a bad idea. Wouldn't recommend it, not from Scotland Yard."

A team of officers raced into the building, pulling the Doctor, Amy and Rory out of 509 St. Cross Street and onto the bonnets of their cars, slapping handcuffs on them in the process.

"Does this happen with a lot with him?" Rory asked Amy during their ride to the Police Department. The Doctor had been put in another car.

"Depends," she said, "normally, we don't end up breaking and entering, so I don't know."

"You two might want to reconsider talking," the officer in the passenger seat, after that Amy and Rory remained quiet.

The Doctor, however, found himself in a cheery mood for someone recently arrested. He sat happily in the backseat of the police car. "How are you boys doing?" he queried. Of course, the officers didn't respond. "Talkative bunch, aren't you?" The Doctor scoffed, turning to look out the window. He seldom travelled anywhere by car. It just wasn't an adventure if it wasn't in the Tardis, his sexy. He smiled at the thought of the pet name for his ship.

"Now let's see, here," the detective began as he walked into the interrogation room, where the Doctor, Amy and Rory had been cuffed in chairs behind a table. The detective seated himself in front of them. "You're the people who tried to break into the warehouse at 509 St. Cross?"

Another detective rushed into the room, "These were confiscated from them during the arrest." She set his sonic and psychic paper on the table in front of the first detective. "You'll want to look at that, sir," she gestured to the psychic paper, "It' doesn't make any sense."

"Alright, Donovan, I'll look at it, thank you." The detective grabbed the sonic screwdriver and held it up for the three of them to see, "What the hell is this?"

"A screwdriver," the Doctor shrugged, with a slight smile across his lips.

The detective clearly wasn't convinced, but moved on anyway grabbing the psychic paper from the table, the other detective glanced at it, suspiciously, over his shoulder.

"Jesus." The first detective remarked, raising his hand up to scratch the back of his greying head.

The Doctor smiled, confident at what it had displayed. He eyed the detectives and saw their disbelief clear as day on their faces.

"Donovan, put these three into holding." He glared at them angrily, The Doctor's grin wiped off his face.

"What seems to be the problem, detective inspector?" He questioned. As the officers who arrested them re-entered the room, pulling them from their chairs.

"The problem is," he barked, "You, sir, are NOT, Sherlock Holmes!"


	5. Chapter 5

Location: London – Scotland Yard

Time: 9:03 AM BST

"Lestrade, what's this about then, John and had a bit of a late night. Following a case. That sort of thing." Sherlock yawned, it had taken him hours before he fell asleep, he'd only closed his eyes for five minutes before Lestrade phoned him. That was twenty minutes ago.

John hadn't slept much either, he was out for about two hours before Sherlock woke him. John might of felt horrible, and looked it, but his appearance wasn't anything compared to Sherlock. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his face was pale. "This couldn't have waited a little bit later, Greg?" John rubbed his eyes.

"'fraid it couldn't." Lestrade led them down to the interrogation room. "Arrested these three last night. Came across something rather interesting."

Through the open door, Sherlock could see the three people who'd visited their flat late last night.

"The man in the middle claimed to be you, Sherlock. These are his papers." Lestrade handed him a small booklet.

"Christ, Sherlock, that's—" John didn't finish his sentence, he saw the man, called the Doctor and his friends Rory and Amy sitting, half asleep, in the interrogation room. The paper that Sherlock now held, had the Doctor's face on it, except he was dressed like Sherlock, and it had Sherlock's name on it. It looked to be a very official document, except that the Doctor was not Sherlock Holmes.

Noticing John's look of confusion, Sherlock intervened, "John, that paper's blank."

John furled his eyebrows, "No, that says that he's you, Sherlock."

Sherlock calmly strode into the interrogation room, "The paper is blank."

"How'd you know?" Rory asked, genuinely, he'd never seen anyone see through the Doctor's psychic paper before.

"It's just a bunch of squiggly lines." The hat detective shrugged, a sly smile crept across his visage.

"Then, if that paper's blank, how come Lestrade and I read Sherlock's name off of it." The past twenty-four hours were making John feel he should schedule another therapy appointment.

"It's a psychic paper," the Doctor groaned exasperatedly. "It can make you think whatever I want, handy in a pinch…usually."

This intrigued the detective inspector of Scotland Yard a fair amount. "Where was this technology developed? What sort of science?" his questions rolled on, as Sherlock pulled his mobile from his coat pocket. He dialled his brother's mobile.

"Sherlock, what is it?" Mycroft inquired distastefully.

"Scotland Yard. Come, now!" Sherlock hung up, hoping his brother would do as he asked.

Sherlock sat at Lestrade's desk while he waited for Mycroft. Lestrade and Donovan were still in the middle of questioning Rory, Amy and the Doctor, and they weren't getting very far.

"Sherlock, what is the meaning of this?" Mycroft huffed as he set his umbrella against the detective inspector's desk. "I was in the middle of a meeting."

"Brother dear, chocolate cake hardly constitutes as a meeting. Although I have a feeling you were a little father then the middle of it." Sherlock stretched his lips into a thin smile as he jeered at Mycroft.

Mycroft wore an unpleasant look on his face, his little brother had deduced correctly. "No matter, it was still much more enjoyable then being called _here_ at a moments notice." He brushed off a few specks of dust from Lestrade's desk. "Now, what's this about?"

Sherlock shot out of his seat and showed Mycroft down to the interrogation room, where Lestrade and Donovan were practically spitting in the Doctor's face, yelling at him and Amy and Rory, determined to get any sensible answer from them. Sherlock picked up what the Doctor had called a psychic paper, and showed it to Mycroft, "It's blank, see? But when John reads it…"

"It's says, Sherlock Holmes, with _his_ picture," John pointed to the Doctor.

Mycroft followed Johns gesture, he grimaced upon seeing the Doctor's face, "Oh for god's sake." He strode into the room, "That's enough, detective inspector." He looked at the Doctor, smiling wryly, "Friends of yours?"

A look of triumph came over the Doctor's face, "Hello, Mycroft."

Sherlock's eyes widened to the edges of his skull. John's jaw gaped open, his eyes darting from Sherlock to Mycroft to the Doctor. Lestrade looked as though he didn't know quite what to do with himself.

The elder Holmes sat down, "What are you doing here, Doctor?"

"Here specifically, or?"

Mycroft titled his head with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

"Well, we had gone to 221B Baker Street because I heard the occupants had a scare after following some sort of 'case' and upon entering the flat of Sherlock Holmes, we were promptly kicked out for trying to understand something impossible." The Doctor pounded his fist on the table, "I was sure, we were sure, that these two dunderheads had stumbled across a weeping angel so we went to that office to find it." He scrunched his face unhappily, "and then we were arrested."

"That's because you were breaking and entering, you—" Donovan was silenced by Mycroft, who'd put his hand up to stop her.

Mycroft weighed the Doctor's words with heavy silence.

Finally, "Let them out of custody, they broke into that building for a reason. A reason that I imagine is worth looking into."

The Doctor laughed heartily, as he, Amy and Rory were released from their handcuffs. "Oh-ho! Right! Amy, Rory, let's go, got a weeping angel to tend to. Mycroft, thanks a bunch," he spun round and took his sonic screwdriver from Lestrade and pulled his psychic paper out of Sherlock's hand. "And we're off,"

Amy and Rory followed the Doctor as he galloped out of the police station.

"What just happened?" Sherlock questioned.

Mycroft exhaled loudly through his nose. "I suggest you follow him. And explain to him what happened to you and Dr. Watson." He pulled his vest down, straightened his posture and exited the interrogation room.

Sherlock ran after him, "Mycroft! How do you know that man?"

"I've told you before, brother mine," Mycroft turned, "I occupy a minor position in the British Government. Word gets 'round." And with a swing of his umbrella, Mycroft left, leaving Sherlock and John standing in the hallway with a decision to make.

Sorry it's been so long guys! My power has been out the past few days and I haven't had time to add this chapter! But thanks for waiting and reading and here's chapter 6. (should I name the chapters? Or do you guys not care?)


	6. Chapter 6

Location: London – Outside Scotland Yard

Time: 9:47 AM BST

"Doctor, why are we just standing about?" Amy leaned on the TARDIS consul, making a face at her Raggedy Doctor.

"Waiting!" he flipped a switch and playfully bopped Amy on her nose.

"Waiting…for what, exactly?" Rory shifted his weight uncomfortably. Then there was a knock on the door.

"That, Rory!" The Doctor ran to the door, like a child runs to their Christmas tree on the morning of December 25th, he threw the door open to the faces of a sceptical Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

Sherlock knit his eyebrows with a face of concern, "Hmm," he muttered.

The Doctor let a smile crawl across his face, his same old genuine smile of curiosity, "Coming?"

"Not quite." Sherlock stared into the Doctor's eyes.

John glanced over Sherlock's shoulder, and into the TARDIS, "Holy!"

"Impressive, no?" The Doctor smiled, inviting John and Sherlock in. Only John entered.

"It's, Christ, it's bigger on the inside," he exclaimed with a visage of awe, the Doctor mouthed the same words as they left John's tongue.

"Is it?!" he remarked, not quite sarcastically but he was clearly enjoying himself.

Sherlock was harder to read, in Amy's opinion, he looked rather frazzled, but it was only a glint in his eyes that made her certain. Otherwise he was doing a brilliant job of hiding it.

"Blimey, how does it do that?" John looked to the Doctor quizzically. "And how does that paper thing of yours work?"

As the Doctor opened his mouth to describe the science of the TARDIS, Sherlock cut across him, "My brother might know who you are, but as I do not, I will give you a chance to explain yourselves; quickly and plainly. Meet us at Baker Street in a few hours." Then he added with a higher tone of voice, mock happily, "I'd rather like to have a good kip! Come on, John."

John stared once more around the large consul room then turned to follow Sherlock, "Yeah, alright then."

When the boys returned to Baker Street, John slumped in his red armchair and Sherlock fell asleep at the bottom of the steps. For once, and only once, the flat of 221B was quite, and it was rather enjoyable.

Closer to noon, Mrs. Hudson poked Sherlock with the end of a broom, "Sherlock, dear, you alright?"

"Wha-?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh you!" Mrs. Hudson pushed past him up the stairs to check on John. "Late night?" she asked him as he groggily opened his eyes to a squint.

"Something like that." John stretched, pulling up his sleeve to check the time on his watch.

Mrs. Hudson descended, calling to both John and Sherlock that she was going out. As she closed the door behind her, the papers on the table blew off and the groaning-wheezing noise of the TARDIS shook the flat as the ship materialized in the middle of the room.

Sherlock took the stairs up, two at a time, and came to a halt next to John. When the noise ceased, The Doctor, Amy and Rory opened the doors to the TARDIS and stepped into the room.

The Doctor looked once around the flat, straightening his bow tie, "Now then." He said, smiling at Sherlock, then John, "Let's talk about angels."

Hello all, I think I've finally got some time on my hands, I'm currently in a school production of The Glass Menagerie, and as a dedicated actor, it's been taking a lot of my free time.


	7. Chapter 7

Location: London – Baker Street

Time: 9:48 AM BST

Sherlock sat himself down in his armchair on the right side of the fireplace. He had his violin in his lap and plucked a melodic phrase as the Doctor shuffled in front of the couch. Amy and Rory were sitting, each on an end, uncomfortably.

"So the thing about the angels is that they're extraordinarily powerful quantum-locked beings who feed of off time energy." The Doctor picked his words carefully, they didn't want to be thrown out again. Sherlock was clearly a logic-based being, Mycroft hadn't been wrong.

 _Two weeks before:_

 _Sitting in Mycroft Holmes' office at the Diogenes Club gave the Doctor a chill up his spine. Like being called to the Headmaster's office for doing something incredibly wrong, against the rules. Of course, the Doctor had been arrested, for investigating an angel._

 _"_ _Well, now Doctor," the Elder Holmes closed the door as he entered, "It's seems your alibi checks out with U.N.I.T, Kate Stewart has given me the highest assurances that you know what you are doing." Mycroft scrunched his face up, unpleasantly, he didn't care for dealing with the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce and their interstellar shenanigans. However, the number of strange disappearances in central London had been increasing over the past few months, and Mycroft knew he didn't have a choice._

 _"_ _Oh, well, gotta love a Lethbridge-Stewart, eh?" The Doctor eased up, knowing he wasn't going to be incarcerated just yet._

 _Mycroft chuckled, "While that might be a fact, it doesn't change my opinion that you are unqualified to investigate for this country. And as such, I'm going to direct the next of these disappearances to my little brother, a detective whom I'd like for you to work with."_

 _"_ _The more the merrier, as I always say," the Doctor smiled like a child._

 _Once again, Mycroft chuckled, "Mm, well, I don't know that you understand how Sherlock's mind works, Doctor, you see my little brother has more of a logically defined brain. He doesn't like to be wrong, or contradicted. And this…case, if you will, has every element of such a thing to break him. Break Sherlock and I shall not hesitate to break you." He sat down behind his desk. "Good day."_

"Does that make…sense?"

"Tell me about the disappearances." Sherlock stated. He was following alright, slowly coming to terms with this strange news. "How do these…angels…cause them?"

"Like I said, they feed off of time energy, they have the ability to send an individual back in time." The Doctor looked to Amy and Rory, who gave them an assuring nod. He was speaking slow enough for Sherlock and John to process the information.

Amy thought back to her first experience with the weeping angels. She'd met River back then too. It was her first planet with the Doctor. But that was before Rory had started to travel with them.

John didn't quite know what to make of it either, but as the Doctor explained it, the things he and Sherlock saw at 509 St. Cross Street. Sherlock's brain was flying a million miles a minute. And it all came back to the man in the bow tie speaking, standing in front of his blue police box.

"So the statue isn't a statue, it's a creature that looks like stone when you're looking and an intense quantum alien which transports a person back in time at their touch?" Sherlock summed up the Doctor's words.

"Yeah," the Doctor nodded, "pretty much."

"Well then, how do we get rid of it. And what do you have in mind?" Sherlock sat forward pensively, awaiting the Doctor's idea.

"I've got a couple things in mind. Follow me." The Doctor grabbed Amy and Rory by their hands and pushed the doors to the TARDIS.

Sherlock scoffed, motioning for John to follow, as he entered the TARDIS control room, he called to the Doctor, "The door says 'pull to open!'"

The Doctor scrunched his face in a funny way that made Amy laugh, "I didn't come into your flat and tell you how to serve your tea!" he toggled and flipped a few switches, whisking the TARDIS out of 221B Baker Street.


	8. Chapter 8

Location: London – 509 St. Cross Street

Time: 10:00 AM BST

The engine wheezed as the Doctor parked the time-machine in the lobby of 509 St. Cross. Like excited children on Christmas, the Doctor and Amy bolted through the doors of the TARDIS, with Rory running after them. Sherlock looked to John, this time, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, "The game is on." His coat flicked out behind him.

The air in the warehouse sat stale and quiet. The open room itself was dark. The gang of time and space travelling detectives stood on the landing overlooking the warehouse. By the sound of it, it was made of metal. As their eyes adjusted, the group could make out a metal stairway that descended to the floor below. And upon further investigation through squinted eyes, they could see stacks of boxes piled up on tall shelves.

Sherlock was first to find the light switch and after a few confused attempts to flick the lights on were all for not. The Doctor spoke up, with the strange ringing of his sonic screwdriver humming under his voice, the green light on the end bright enough to illuminate most of the Doctor's face, "I think you'll find that the lights are off for good."

"What, whatdoyoumean?" John raised his eyebrows and waved his hand once to make eye contact with the Time-Lord, "'For good?'"

"Well," The Doctor swished his sonic back into his jacket pocket, the landing falling to darkness once again, "The thing about Weeping Angels is they draw their power from sources of energy. And—from what I can gather about this room is that they keep their generator in that cupboard there." He pointed across the dimly lighted warehouse to a door with emergency lights on over the frame.

"Oh." The colour drained from John's face and Sherlock stared at the Doctor in disbelief.

"But Doctor?"

"Yes, Amy!?" For someone confronting almost certain death—in John's opinion—the Doctor was in a rather cheery mood.

Amy stepped toward the Doctor, "Well, those Angels we came across in the _Byzantium_ ; they were feeding off of radiation, weren't they? Unless regular office park generators are radioactive, what are they really feeding on?"

This made the man in the bowtie stop and think a moment. Amy looked at him desperately, with an expression that read she knew that he had no idea.

Sherlock, however, began turning his gears. He rested his hands on the railing of the landing as he went over everything they knew about the case in rapid thought: _The statue from the fountain was moved into storage, Matt—foreman—after several disappearances claims to know nothing of the angel moving from point A to B etc. Upon investigation, Christopher, facilities manager, claims that there's no way in hell he's going into the warehouse. Now, that could only mean one of two things; one, we aren't dealing with an angel at all and Matt the foreman is a deranged scientist and professional serial killer or; two, and seemingly more likely the statue of an angel is in fact a Weeping Angel that the Doctor here describes and as several employees have disappeared because of an energy-seeking, quantum-locked being. It could only be…_

"It's taking the life forces of the workers as an energy source." Sherlock turned around, all-admittedly to proud of his crime solving abilities.

"That would be one way to describe it , yes." The Doctor's face was hard to see, but by the sound of his voice he was discontent. "The angels, as I've said, are quantum-locked beings, when they touch a person, they can send them back however many years in time. There the person sent back lives out the rest of their lives in a different time period."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad," Rory spoke up. After all, he had yet to encounter any Weeping Angels on his journey's with the Doctor and Amy.

"Aside from the fact that you die in this time and none of your loved ones know what happened to you." The Doctor continued grimly, "There isn't a body to bury. Leaving everyone wondering…what happened?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, until this point the Doctor had seemed overly cheerful and content, it wasn't until the thought of death came up that he turned melancholy. Truthfully, the moment caused Sherlock to realize that he and the Doctor might not be so different after all.

Rory looked uncomfortable. It would be hard to feel any different. Living in a time where you don't know anyone, technology in all senses of the word would be less advanced tenfold.

The Doctor continued, lost in his thought, "Then, after you die hear they feed off of the energy of the life you were meant to live."

His last word echoed throughout the warehouse.

The Doctor and Sherlock, now with a similar mind set, stared into the darkness looming in the building.

"We stick together." The Doctor said as he began to lead the group down the stairs. He stopped suddenly, with a new realization in mind, "Oh, and whatever you do…don't blink."

Amy and Rory followed the Doctor just behind his heels. Sherlock and John—at a separate glance, each with a look of concern in their eyes—slowly followed the Doctor down the steps into the darkness.

"John?" Sherlock asked in the darkness.

"Yeah?" John could feel Sherlock walking down the steps behind him.

"Have you got a torch on you?"

"Ah, let me see,"

The Doctor reached the bottom of the stairs, their footsteps ringing throughout the warehouse, as the sound of John fumbling through his pockets met their ears.

"No, no, Sherlock, I haven't got it, but, I think…" He took his mobile out of his jacket pocket, the light giving a faint glow into the room, then a brighter flash-light-type light blared out of the mobile. "That'll do it, yeah?"

Sherlock grinned a sly grin that he thought John couldn't see. Of course, he couldn't see that John smiled happily at the sight of Sherlock's hidden cheery face.

"What was that!" Rory backed into John, suddenly.

"Ow!" John exclaimed, Sherlock quickly did a one-eighty, he hadn't seen anything.

"Sorry, mate." Rory pat John on the back apologetically. "Did none of you hear that?"

The five of them stood for a moment, which lead to seconds, on to minutes in silence. Waiting to hear something, anything…but hoping that they would hear nothing at all.


End file.
